Gamble With Hearts (3 page)

He then retired to his room leaving
Charlotte
torn between fury and hysterical laughter. From that moment she treated her cousin with a cold formality that affected him not in the least. Indeed, when at last he handed her into the travelling coach he murmured with some satisfaction; ‘I think we understand each other, do we not, dear
Charlotte
?’ To which Miss Wrexham replied by slamming shut the door so abruptly that Mr Pollock's fingers were in grave danger of amputation.

‘What was that he said to you, my love?’ inquired Mrs Wrexham, mildly curious.

‘Nothing dearest. Nothing at all!’ She settled back against the cushions and sighed deeply. ‘Well, we are off at last for better or worse. Let us hope I do not make a mull of it. Oh, I promise I will do my very best for us!’

Mrs Wrexham had spent a short season in
London
in her youth but upon her marriage she had been very happy to follow her young husband to the grim old house in Derbyshire. Her married life had passed pleasantly enough for she had much to content her. She was extremely attached to Mr Wrexham, indeed she had given up a very brilliant suitor in order to marry him; and moreover she found much to entertain her in the district, caring for her family and performing those acts of charity which fell to her lot as Mr Wrexham's spouse. For some years before his death, however, the damp climate of the northern moors had been affecting her health and spirits and it was with little regret that she watched the familiar landscape give way to unknown countryside.

The horses supplied by Mr Pollock were strong rather than speedy beasts and although they had started out betimes they were obliged to put up for the night in Birchover, much to Charlotte's disgust.
 
She had hoped to put Derbyshire behind her before the carriage halted for the night. However, the rambling little inn was excessively comfortable and, realising that her mama was sadly fatigued, she owned that it would have been foolish to proceed and risk being benighted.

Circumstanced as they were, there was no possibility of their being able to afford a private room; but most fortunately there was only one other occupant of the cosy parlour, and as this young gentleman slept soundly throughout the whole evening, this was not felt by the ladies to be any very great inconvenience.

By the greatest ill-luck there was a heavy fall of snow that night and when the ladies arose the next morning it was to be greeted by the unwelcome intelligence that the highway was blocked and quite impassable.

‘Well, my dear, this is ill news to be sure,’ remarked Mrs Wrexham in a philosophical tone. ‘When do you think the road will be clear? Did the landlord say?’

‘A few days, I am afraid. We are quite marooned here. One comfort, however, is that although we cannot get away, at least no one else will arrive and so we may be sure of enjoying our own company, uninterrupted save for the gentleman we saw last night.’

‘Is there no one else staying in the inn, then?’ questioned Mrs Wrexham.

She was answered by the landlord's wife, who entered the breakfast parlour at that moment, bearing chocolate and freshly baked rolls still steaming in a snowy cloth.

‘There is one other gentleman, Mum, as has taken the private parlour. Cratchett, that's my man, Mum, says the gentleman is the Marquis of Ruthin an' has a coronet on his coach an' everything slap up. We don't get many such quality folks stoppin' 'ere, but with the snow an' all he didn't like to push on to the Bear. Lucky for us, I say!’

As she talked Mrs Cratchett had set out the viands and supplied the ladies with breakfast. She showed every disposition to linger for a friendly chat, but was obliged to leave before she had quite finished acquainting the ladies with her life's history as the bell had been rung in the Marquis' bedchamber and she bustled off to obey this august summons.

The ladies were silent after she had left. The same thought had occurred to both but they felt a little delicate in discussing the matter. For two adventuresses, for this as
Charlotte
well knew was what they were now committed to being, there could be few happier situations than to be isolated in a small inn for several days with a Marquis. Of course, he might be old, or married, or both, but there was no gainsaying that it was an odd chance and might, thought Mrs Wrexham, almost have been meant.

Charlotte glanced up from her reflections to find her mother's eye upon her.

‘Charlotte, my love, I think I see a spot of coffee upon your gown. You had better change. Into the primrose muslin I think.’

Although Charlotte could detect nothing amiss with her gown she took her mama's advice and retired to her chamber. Then she engaged in a short, sharp struggle with her pride which was offended at the notion of dressing to please this unknown Marquis. The memory, ever present, of Mr Wimple was enough to make up her mind and she quickly donned the filmy muslin. She salved her pride, however, by determining to make no attempt to captivate the gentleman and to treat him with the same cool civility that she would accord to any fellow guest under the circumstances.

It seemed as though the primrose gown was to quite wasted that morning, for it appeared that his lordship was not an early riser. While Charlotte and her mama sat in the parlour sewing or reading the books that Mrs Cratchett had found for them, they could hear the servants climbing the stairs with pitchers of hot water for my Lord's bath, laden trays for my Lord's breakfast and lastly, a valet tenderly bearing my Lord's coat.

If his Lordship did not appear, they were more fortunate with their somnolent acquaintance of the previous evening. They were aware of a rather timid knock upon the door which opened a few inches to reveal an anxious, youthful face. This apparition gulped visibly and then remarked in a rather squeaky voice: ‘A fine morning ma’am.’

Mrs Wrexham smiled welcomingly. ‘So it is, sir,’ she answered politely. ‘Will you not join us for there is a very pleasant fire in here and you must be quite chilled?’

Much encouraged, the young gentleman entered the room and bowed. ‘My name is Edridge, ma'am, at your service.’ His voice had a more normal tone as he addressed Mrs Wrexham but showed a tendency to shoot up again as he greeted Charlotte.

‘I am most happy to meet you, sir,’ she smiled, holding out her hand.

‘I — I — thank you, ma'am, stammered Mr Edridge and sat down rather quickly upon the very edge of his chair.

Charlotte, who guessed his age to be around seventeen, was rather amused as she had never been much in the company of very young gentlemen unless the swains who appeared at the Buxton Assemblies might be said to count. These youths were more inclined to tell her long stories of famous hunt runs they had enjoyed and interminable games of cricket they had played than to stare at her in blatant admiration. She was quite happy to spend the hours until dinner in drawing out her new acquaintance and was very soon in possession of all the facts about him. He was going up to Oxford shortly, it appeared, but his Papa, the best of fathers and a famous sportsman, had said that before he devoted himself to study he should be allowed the indulgence of spending a few weeks with his elder sister who resided in Half Moon Street.

Correctly deducing from all this that Mr Edridge moved in the best circles, Mrs Wrexham was content to let the two young people talk while she put down her embroidery and allowed her mind to dwell upon the future. She was not unhopeful. The sight of
Charlotte
in her fashionable attire was one to gladden any mother's heart. How could she fail to attract some eligible gentleman? But what would happen to herself after the marriage had taken place she did not know. Doubtless Charlotte would want her mama to reside with her but Mrs Wrexham felt that this would never answer. She foresaw that she was doomed to solitary old age. As she was indulging in these depressing reflections, the door opened once more, this time to reveal a very different gentleman. From the top of his burnished head to his gleaming top boots he was a vision of elegance. He appeared to be about forty years of age, his figure was athletic, his leg in the pale fawn pantaloons sufficiently shapely. The coat of blue superfine fitted him so tightly that Charlotte wondered how he ever contrived to don it. The vision stood in the doorway for a moment regarding them all, then he smiled, a singularly warm and attractive smile.

‘Forgive my intrusion, ladies. When you hear my reason I feel sure you will appreciate the necessity.’ He bowed. ‘Permit me to present myself. Ruthin, very much at your service.’

The ladies bowed and Mr Edridge stammered something inaudible, admiring the newcomer's address. He was rewarded with a friendly handshake. Obviously the Marquis was not so high a stickler as to appear above his company, nor, it seemed, did he have any desire to play the great man.

Kissing Mrs Wrexham's hand with an old-world courtesy, he explained: ‘The case is this. I had engaged a private parlour, having been assured, dear lady, that you yourself did not desire it, and I had hoped not to have thrust myself upon you in this way. Alas! This morning I entered the room to find that a tomcat had been there before me. Believe me, ma'am, the odour is quite overpowering and although my experience is limited I should think it will outlast the snow!’

They were obliged to laugh, for his rueful expression was too ridiculous. Mrs Wrexham hastened to assure him that he was entirely welcome, which indeed he was.

Without appearing to indulge in anything so vulgar as curiosity, the Marquis was very soon able to draw from Mrs Wrexham the tale of her husband's death and their consequent journey to
London
. Of the purpose of this journey she naturally did not speak, but doubtless the Marquis was astute enough to need no telling. He complimented her upon her daughter who was engaged at the window with Mr Edridge, being initiated into the mysteries of certain revolutionary methods of crop rotation with which he meant to experiment as soon as he came down from Oxford. Squire Edridge's only fault, it appeared, was a certain scepticism regarding his only son's enthusiastic schemes for improving the land.

‘But won't I show him, by Jove! Just wait 'til I come down. Then he must see that it is not just a fad. It is what I really want to do, you know. There is so much being discovered just now! So much experimentation! And I have to waste time going to university. What use will a lot of Latin and Greek be for a farmer?’

‘You will have plenty of time when you come down, will you not?’ she answered. ‘I am sure you will enjoy yourself very much at
Oxford
and be such a credit to your Papa that he will be happy to let you try out your methods.’

‘That's all very well, but it still seems like a great waste of time to me!’

They continued to talk in a desultory way until dinner was announced. They were all happy to sit down to the landlady's famous cooking and the talk flowed freely between them. Charlotte and Mr Edridge had reached so good an understanding that Mrs Wrexham felt some alarm until she realised that their friendship was quite devoid of romantic sentiment. Indeed, they were already wrangling amiably over some book or other that Mr Edridge had the bad taste to admire. While the young people chatted, the Marquis devoted himself to Mrs Wrexham.

‘You are fortunate in your daughter, ma'am,’ he observed, refilling her wine glass. ‘Do have some of this excellent hock. As I was saying, you are fortunate. I too have a daughter but circumstances have kept us much apart. I could wish she showed me but half the affection that Miss Wrexham so obviously feels for you.’

Mrs Wrexham's gaze rested fondly upon her daughter. ‘Yes indeed, sir, Charlotte is the greatest comfort to me. I do not know how I should go on without her. But perhaps you mistake your daughter. If, as you say, you have seen little of her, perhaps she may be shy. How old is she?’

‘Amelia is just sixteen, ma’am. I daresay she is shy for she has never a word for me, although I have heard her chattering merrily enough to her Aunt. You see, the case is that my wife did not survive Amelia's birth by more than a week —’ He smiled as Mrs Wrexham gave a little exclamation of distress. ‘Please do not concern yourself, dear ma'am, all this was a very long time ago. The difficulty is that Amelia has of necessity been in the care of female relatives except when attending a seminary in
Bath
, and so we have seen almost nothing of each other. Perhaps I have been at fault. Now I hope to remedy this by bringing Amelia to live with me in town.’

Mrs Wrexham warmly expressed her approbation; ‘I feel sure, sir, that once you know each other better you will find in your Amelia the same solace that dear Charlotte brings to me.’

The Marquis smiled. ‘How strange it seems to be, talking so to a stranger and yet, ma'am, it has done me good. Would it be too much to ask that I might bring Amelia to see you in town? I think it would give her great pleasure.’

‘We would be delighted,’ she answered sincerely. The remainder of the evening passed pleasantly enough. Charlotte challenged Mt Edridge to a game of Back gammon while the elder couple engaged in a comfortable and not very serious game of cribbage. The ladies retired early and arose the next morning to find that the snow had miraculously melted and the road was once more passable. They breakfasted with Mr Edridge who was as anxious to be off as they and who requested, with a return to his earlier embarrassment, that he might be permitted to call upon them at Lady Northwood's house. This permission granted, he departed in the highest spirits, prophesying that they would all have the jolliest time in the great metropolis.